


Not So Great Expectations

by Greyven



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: I Don't Even Know, James is a jerk, M/M, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, extra characters that I made up, i didn't even read the cursed child, i don't know what's canon anymore, ignores the fact that slughorn retired by the time these two nerds got to school, passive aggressive tags, taking a lot of creative liberties here, this has already been written a million times so I don't know why I'm trying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-04 12:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14593146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greyven/pseuds/Greyven
Summary: “Sorry about that,” he says in a rush. “My brother is an ass.”Now that Al is facing him fully, Scorpius can see that the hair and the nose are where the similarities end between him and James. Al is rounder in the face and softer in the eyes, which are very wide and very brown.Scorpius blinks and looks away out the window. “That’s alright.” It’s not like he expected much else.





	1. Chapter 1

Scorpius Malfoy hauls his impossibly heavy trunk into the first empty compartment he finds, panting and wondering if his mother had packed half the the library as well as his cauldron and textbooks. He sets the cat carrier on the seat and stares up at the rack he’s clearly meant to put the trunk on. Perhaps he should have had father come aboard and help him after all.

When he finally manages to get the trunk in its proper place, he’s broken a sweat. He rolls up the sleeves of his cream colored jumper and flops down with a dragonology book on his lap. He doesn’t open it, though, because he notices someone’s already got their luggage in the rack over the seat across from him. There’s a battered trunk that looks like it’s been passed down at least one, maybe two generations and a brown owl in a cage that’s been silent this whole time. It stares at Scorpius with wide, yellow eyes and shrinks back into the depths of its cage.

Scorpius blinks back, fighting his rising heart rate and wondering if he should find somewhere else to sit.

_ No. You’re here to make friends. _

For weeks his mother had been cooing about all the  wonderful people he would meet. Father had nodded along in agreement, but looked at Scorpius sadly and didn’t say anything. Both of their behaviors had only made Scorpius nervous.

The train suddenly jerks to life and, as if on cue, two boys with thick, black hair tumble into the compartment.

“See, Al? Nearly made us late,” the taller one says grumpily, lifting a trunk bigger than Scorpius’ into the spot next to the owl without so much as a grunt. He looks a bit surly behind the mop of dark hair and square, wire-framed glasses. He wears a baggy Holy-Headed Harpies jersey over a long sleeved shirt. Scorpius can see a wand poking out of the back pocket of his skinny jeans, which are ripped and faded in a style the fashion industry would call “grunge”  and Scorpius’ father would call “delinquent”.

“Sorry. I was talking to Dad,” the younger one says. They are brothers, Scorpius concludes. It’s obvious from their hair and the shape of their noses, although the younger one, Al, isn’t wearing glasses.

Scorpius shifts in his seat. Both boys swing around, noticing him for the first time.

“Oh! Hello,” Al says cheerfully.

The older brother’s expression cools and he looks Scorpius up and down. Scorpius gets the feeling he’s being sized up and it takes everything in him not to squirm under the scrutiny.

He knows what’s coming.

“You’re the Malfoy kid.”

It’s not a question and the boy’s eyes are set firmly on Scorpius’ white blond hair.

Scorpius wets his lips before answering, because he doesn’t think he can speak if he doesn’t. His voice is very small when it does come out.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

The boy snorts rudely.

“ _ James _ .” Al stares at his brother and goes red in the face.

James shrugs and moves into the corridor. “I’ll be in the next car down with Mirabella. Rose is with Victoire. Mum gave you money for the cart, right?”

Al nods.

“Good. Get me if you need anything,” he says, glancing at Scorpius again before disappearing.

Scorpius doesn’t know what to say and Al doesn’t seem to either. Al wrings his hands around the hem of his T-shirt for a moment before suddenly throwing himself into the seat across from Scorpius and hugging his knees to his chest.

“Sorry about that,” he says in a rush. “My brother is an ass.”

Now that Al is facing him fully, Scorpius can see that the hair and the nose are where the similarities end between him and James. Al is rounder in the face and softer in the eyes, which are very wide and very brown.

Scorpius blinks and looks away out the window. “That’s alright.” It’s not like he expected much else.

He means to go back to his book then, but Al seems intent on talking to him.

“I’m Al, by the way.”

“Yes. Your brother said.”

“Er. Right.”

Al seems to laugh at himself a bit and there’s a few moments where there’s only the train rushing over the tracks and the muffled footfalls of a student running down the corridor. Al is staring at him expectantly.

“Oh. I’m Scorpius.” He sticks his arm out for a stiff handshake, mentally kicking himself. He let’s go of Al’s hand as soon as politeness allows, hoping his palm isn’t sweaty.

“Are you excited?” Al asks, “About school?”

Scorpius isn’t sure excited is the right word, but he certainly feels  _ something _ about it. He runs his thumb nail over the texture of his corduroy slacks, thinking about how he almost ended up at Durmstrang, remembering dozens of whispered conversations between his parents when they thought he couldn’t hear, his father hissing frantically to his mother.

_ I’m not sending him somewhere he’ll have to live under my shadow. _

“Nervous,” he says finally. He doesn’t admit that he’s terrified.

Al nods seriously and looks down at his lap. “I’m worried about the sorting.”

Growing up, Scorpius had been dimly aware that the school sorting ceremony is a great source of stress for most children his age, but he’d never given it much thought until there’d been discussion of sending him to Hogwarts. Now he thinks it’s vaguely ridiculous how obsessed and devoted some families are to a particular house, his own included. He tells Al as much.

“My family has all been in Slytherin for hundreds of years, so I suppose I can expect to be as well.” He pauses, watching the other boy’s face as he talks, taking note of the way Al’s eyes twitch at his mention of Slytherin house. “To be honest, I think the tradition is pretty archaic,” he says quoting something he’d heard his father say.

Al frowns fully then. “How do you mean?”

“I’ve always been told the houses are heavily stereotyped and the association with one will follow you around for the rest of your life, whether you like it or not…” He trails off, ears growing hot, embarrassed to have been speaking so frankly. It probably just made Al’s nerves worse.

“I mean...I just think it’s cruel to judge someone based on something that was decided when they were eleven,” he mumbles.

Al stares at the floor, then  at the fir trees flashing past the window, then at the cable stitching on Scorpius’s jumper. He’s either concentrating very hard on what he wants to say, or struggling with some internal decision. Scorpius’ skin prickles delicately where Al’s gaze is boring into his chest.

Al’s eyes flick up to meet his and his next words are so quiet  that Scorpius has to lean forward slightly to catch them.

“My dad says you get to choose.”

Scorpius blinks in surprise. He’s never heard of anyone choosing their house before. From what he can tell, most people treat it as a decider of fate and act like the Sorting Hat has the ultimate say in who they are going to be. Maybe it’s just that no one has ever thought to ask it for what they want.

“What did he pick?” Scorpius asks.

“He and my mum were both in Gryffindor. And Jame is too.” Al pauses, thinking. “And my grandparents, all of my uncles, my aunt Hermione, most of my cousins…” He lets out a breath, looking flustered.

Scorpius fills in the rest for him. “And that’s what you want?”

Al scratches the back of his head uncertainly. “Yeah. I want to be in Gryffindor, in my dad’s house. But what if that’s not where I’m  _ supposed _ to be? What if I choose wrong?”

“I’m sure he’ll be proud regardless.”

“I know but...he’s my dad.” Al says this like it doesn’t need an explanation, and for Scorpius it doesn’t. He’s saved from having to respond because the sweet trolley comes by their compartment and Al leaps up to buy a fat package of Pumpkin Pasties. Scorpius has never been fond of sweets, much to Al’s disbelief when he tries to offer some.

“Seriously? Not even chocolate frogs? Bertie Bott’s?”

Scorpius shakes his head, wrinkling his nose even as he’s laughing at Al’s hyperbolic doubt. After he settles down and half the pasties are gone, Al stretches out lengthwise across his seat and puts one arm behind his head. Al notices the cat carrier and Scorpius tells him about Kitty.

“I’d let you pet her but she’s nervous around strangers. I had to give her a sleeping drought before we left.”

“Wait. You named your cat Kitty?”

“...I wasn’t a very creative toddler.”

Al snorts. Scorpius smirks. Then Al laughs at him. It’s a good feeling, Scorpius decides, to be laughed at in good humor.

At some point Al dozes off, exhausted from the hectic morning and lazy afternoon cooped up in the train. Scorpius finally goes back to his reading, but it’s difficult to focus when he probably just made a very good friend, purely by chance.

And father had been so worried about him doing well socially. Scorpius will have to write and tell him.

Thinking of his father brings him back to thoughts of sorting hats and family legacies. His father has never said much about his old Hogwarts house. Or any Hogwarts house for that matter. Scorpius had figured it was either because he didn’t care about them or he simply assumed Scorpius would be in Slytherin. Now Scorpius realizes something he should have understood a long time ago: his father was ashamed.

Sadness into his heart and he wonders about it for the rest of the train ride.


	2. Chapter 2

When the train stops the first years are told to leave their luggage on board. Scorpius is uncomfortable leaving Kitty behind, but one of the matronly witches helping everyone onto the platform assures him that the cat will be waiting for him in his room when he gets to the castle. He still doesn’t like the idea of her being alone in an unfamiliar place, but he knows a wizard’s pet has a way of always returning to its master even if it becomes lost.

When they are finally in the midst of the crowd, Scorpius becomes even more uncomfortable. He finds himself wanting to cling to Al’s elbow since his is the only familiar face in a sea of rippling black robes. He doesn’t do this, of course, but he does stay close enough that there’s no space for someone to pass between them and separate them in the crowd. It’s probably presumptuous of him to assume Al wants Scorpius following him around. After all, they were strangers until several hours ago. But Al doesn’t seem to mind and, in fact, seems very glad Scorpius would prefer they stick together.

A booming voice goes over the crowd, calling the first years to gather round. Al’s face lights up.

“Look! It’s Hagrid.”

Al pushes through the flow of people and Scorpius follows until they’re suddenly standing before a man who is easily several times taller than either of them. Scorpius looks up, up, up, until he sees a very wild mass of salt and pepper hair with eyes poking out from the center of it all.

“Hagrid!” All calls out over the noise of the students around them. Scorpius hopes the man can hear him from all the way up there.

“Hello, Albus,” Hagrid booms. “How’s yer mum and dad? And yer little sister? Haven’t seen ‘em in a while.”

“Lily cried at the train station,” Al tells him. Hagrid smiles sadly.

“Did she, now? Well, she’ll be here soon enough.” He catches sight of Scorpius and falters. “An’ who’s this?”

“Scorpius. We met on the train,” Al says cheerfully.

Scorpius sticks his hand out. “Hello.”

Hagrid hesitates long enough to make Scorpius flush with embarrassment. Then he pinches Scorpius’ hand between a calloused finger and thumb and gives it the tiniest of shakes. He let’s go, looking flustered.

“Hurry along no,” he says quickly. “Got a busy evening ahead o’ yeh.”

When all the first years have assembled on the platform, Hagrid leads them to the banks of a massive lake. Al, who doesn’t seem to have noticed the uncomfortable exchange a few minutes ago, insists on riding in the same boat as Hagrid. Scorpius follows him reluctantly.

A girl with mousy brown pigtails scoots into the boat in the nonexistent space next to Scorpius.

“Sorry. The others were full,” she mumbles. Scorpius doubts that. Hagrid takes up most of the boat and the three children are nearly sitting on top of each other to accommodate him. Any boat with one extra child would be more spacious than this one.

Then, halfway across the lake, the girl shrieks that there’s something in the water.

“Don’t worry,” Hagrid reassures her. “It’s friendly. Al!”

The boat rocks violently as Al lunges to get a glimpse of the creature and Hagrid hauls him back by his collar. Scorpius clings to the port side with a white knuckled grip, torn between claustrophobia from the sardine-like seating arrangements and terror of whatever is in the water.

He forgets all of that when the castle come into view.

His classmates all make various noises of awe, but Scorpius can only stare.

It’s twilight and Hogwarts is a shadowy, castle shaped cutout against the purple sky. There’s a light on in every window and their reflection shimmers in the water head of them. Scorpius notices that some of the towers are so precariously perched that it seems they are only attached to the main structure as a formality and might float away at any moment.

A breeze rises of the surface of the lake and goose bumps prickle over his skin.

Everything after this happens in a blur of color. A professor tells them the sorting is about to happen. Al grabs Scorpius’ shoulder and whispers that the professor’s name is Longbottom and he’s friends with Al’s dad.

Then they are made to stand in a line and are shepherded  through some doors and into a corridor and through some more doors and Scorpius doesn’t have time to take in anything around him because Professor Longbottom is reading names off a roll of parchment and students are putting on the Sorting Hat and then,  _ oh God. _

It’s his turn.

“Malfoy, Scorpius.”

During the entire ceremony, everyone in the Great Hall has been politely quiet, clapping and cheering when appropriate and smiling encouragingly at the nervous first years. Now, as Scorpius moves forward he sees many of those smiles tighten or fade entirely, even one or two from the staff table. He stares at his shoes, avoiding anyone’s eyes. He’s tempted to turn around and walk straight out the door again.

Then he can’t see anything because the hat slips down over his eyes.

At first everything is still, except for his heart, which seems intent on leaping out of the pulse point in his throat. It’s eerily quiet, as if the hat has made some sort of cocoon around his head.

“Oh, my.”

Scorpius finches, not expecting the hat to speak directly to him. 

“We are conflicted, aren’t we? Hm, yes,” it croaks in his ear. “Fierce loyalty and devotion, a degree of wisdom beyond your years, ambition and drive to overcome the past of your forefathers… I am quite uncertain where to put you.”

The hat’s words pull something jagged and fierce from him.

He thinks of his father, who never spoke of what happened during the war, but wore the weight of it in his eyes. When he was younger it would confuse and upset Scorpius every time his father would go silent and still at dinner time and abandon his half-finished meal to sin in his study with the door closed. He hadn’t understood when his mother explained that sometimes father got sad and needed to be alone for a while. She never explained that “a while” usually meant days or weeks at a time.

Scorpius understands more now.

He thinks of Al’s pride when talking about his own dad.

Scorpius just wants him to give his father something to be proud of in a life that’s brought him little but misery.

“Yes,” the hat mutters. “Why not break the mold?”

Scorpius wants it so much he doesn’t even care that, among all the qualities the hat seems to think he has, bravery doesn’t seem to be one of them. He’s self aware enough to know he’s always been nervous by nature. Not exactly Gryffindor material.

“You’re willing to bare the burden of your father’s past, just to he can find some pride in his former house?”

There’s a loud rustling of ancient fabric and Scorpius swears the hat is chuckling. “If that’s not true courage, then I don’t know what is.”


	3. Chapter 3

The Slytherin common room reminds Scorpius of his grandmother’s suite in Malfoy Manor: dim, heavy, and crammed full of unsettling antiques and hard leather settees. Even the fire is cold and uninviting.

He doesn’t linger there.

The dormitories are better, mostly because they aren’t completely under water. The window ledge is only a few inches above the lake’s surface and the stars are perfectly reflected in it, giving Scorpius the illusion that he’s staring into an upside-down sky that he he might fall through forever if he steps past the window frame.

He feels like he’s falling anyway, even with his feet firmly on the dark hardwood floor in his room. It’s surreal to find Kitty curled up in a dark corner beneath his bed, to have three other boys he doesn’t know bumbling around in the same living space, and to sleep surrounded by dense green velvet curtains when he’s used to his expansive bedroom at home.

Mostly he’s reeling from the realization that Al is _Albus Potter._

Scorpius should have figured it out the moment they met on the train. With Al’s raggedy black hair and bespectacled brother and all that talk of “my Aunt Hermione”, how could he be anyone else? Scorpius knows what Harry Potter looks like from the papers. Everyone does. He’d just been too flustered to recognized Harry Potter’s youngest son when he was sitting two feet in front of him.

Which was good.

Scorpius had enjoyed his time with Al on the train because of the laughter they’d shared and the easy silence that fit comfortably between them when they weren’t talking. Al certainly didn’t seem to care who’s son Scorpius was, but it was impossible to know how it would have been different if Scorpius had known who he’s been sitting across from. Maybe all friendships began that way. Scorpius wouldn’t know.

He half expects Al to ignore him now that they’re among the general Hogwarts student body and not confined to a compartment on the train. It wouldn’t be without reason for Al to pretend they never met, but the next morning at breakfast, while Scorpius has his face submerged in a goblet of orange juice, Al drops into the seat across from him He seems oblivious to the stunned looks from the cluster of fifth year students seated several yards away.

“I’m going to visit Hagrid on Friday. Want to come?”

Scorpius hesitates and takes long enough wiping orange juice off his lip that some of the enthusiasm leaks from Al’s posture.

“I don’t think he likes me very much,” Scorpius admits.

Al scoffs. “Don’t be stupid. Hagrid likes everyone. Well, except Filch. But no one likes him.”

Scorpius is still apprehensive and it must show on his face because Al practically bounces where he sits, begging Scorpius to go with him.

“Fine.” He grudgingly fights to keep a smile from his face.

“Fantastic!”

The two of them happen to share Charms as their very first class, and pick two seats next to each other. The professor, who’s positively ancient with a puff of white hair, squeals in delight upon seeing Al in his classroom. His giddy little laugh turns a bit nervous when he sees Scorpius sitting next to him, however.

Dismay proves to be the theme of the day. Al and Scorpius have three class together in total and in every single one, their proximity is met with thinly veiled astonishment.

The moment they enter the dungeons, droopy old Professor Slughorn rushes over to greet Al like an old friend, but is reduced to quivering and stammering at the sight of him sitting next to the son of a former Death Eater.

“The irony certainly isn’t lost on me, you can be sure of that,” he mutters.

Al squints at him. “Professor?”

“Oh, don’t mind me…” He waddles off, giving Scorpius a conflicted look. Scorpius can’t keep himself from frowning back at him.

Professor Longbottom is the most subtle. He leans over his desk in the back of the herbology greenhouse, pensively watching the two of them unpack their books. When he catches Scorpius staring back at him he shakes his head, laughing silently to himself.

By the time afternoon rolls around Scorpius is in a stormy mood. He doesn’t understand how adults can be so affected by the presence of an eleven year old. How would they react if anyone _actually_ important was roaming around the castle? Ridiculous. And Kitty was refusing to come out from under Scorpius’ bed. She’d given him a nasty scratch when he tried to pull her out of hiding, and it’s still bleeding a bit.

He nurses his wounded hand, dabbing at it delicately with his little finger, and makes his way up from the dungeons. Earlier, Al suggested exploring the library after they both finish classes and he’s leaning against the entrance when Scorpius reaches it. There are a few other students talking to him and Scorpius hangs back, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Al doesn’t seem interested in whatever they’re saying and his eye dart around impatiently. His face lights up when he finds Scorpius.

“Great. You’re here.” Al pushes away from the door frame, not saying goodbye to the other students. They all throw suspicious looks at Scorpius before wandering away.

“Let’s go.” Al grabs Scorpius’ arm and drags him through the door. He makes an impressed sound at the sight before them.

Scorpius notices the smell first. It’s dusty and leathery, but not unpleasant. The shelves are so tall they disappear into the rafters where the afternoon light doesn’t quite reach. He wanders over to the closest shelf and runs his fingers over the leather spines.

“We have a library at home,” he tells Al. “It’s not nearly this big, but there’s still more books than I’ll ever be able to read. I’m trying, though.”

“Really?” Al says. Scorpius finds Al watching him instead of taking in the library. “We have a room we call the library, but it’s really just a junk room. My dad doesn’t get rid of anything. Ever.”

Scorpius smiles. It sounds nice. He imagines a cozy little study room with shelves stuffed full of keepsakes and newspaper clippings and family photographs. He imagines Al wandering in, picking something up at random and his dad telling him about all the memories attached to it. Everyone knows Harry Potter’s life story, but this room would be more than that. It would be a place where all the little pieces that will never make it into a history book are on display for his children to see. His memories would indirectly become theirs.

Scorpius is jealous. Whatever is left of Draco Malfoy’s childhood is locked away in the darkest chambers of Malfoy Manor where Narcissa confines herself. In fact, Scorpius’ father is dedicated to throwing out as much as possible: every heirloom, every portrait, every set of old dress robes from every great uncle found in far corners of the manor that have yet to be cleaned out. Scorpius knows his father is set on scrubbing away every last bad memory until the foul odor of the past is gone from the house. It won’t be gone from his mind, though.

Just then, a group of boys tumble loudly into the library. The woman at the desk shushes them sharply. Al peeks around the shelf and his expression turns foul. He swears and Scorpius looks at him, startled.

“It’s James,” he spits. Scorpius tries to peer around Al’s shoulder, but Al pulls him away. “Quick, hide.”

“Why?” Scorpius asks. Is Al embarrassed to be seen with him? He hadn’t minded before.

“Because. I don’t want to deal with him right now. Or ever, for that matter.”

Scorpius recalls the cold look James gave him on the train.

They stop in a quieter section of the library, near a very dusty row of books that’s separated by a wrought iron gate. Al glares at a book about the technical theory behind switching spells, material that’s way too advanced for the level the two of them are at after their very first day of school. Scorpius, on the other hand, has lost interest in everything around him. He’s too focused on analyzing the rigid line of Al’s shoulders.

“What are the two of you doing back here?”

A librarian with a pinched up face appears from around the shelf behind them. Scorpius opens his mouth to say “nothing,” because it’s the truth, but Al speaks up first.

“We’re hiding from my brother,” he blurts, scowling and brutally honest.

The librarian works her mouth for moment, glancing between the two of them. She’s clearly not used to students being so forthright about their intentions. “Well, you’re awfully close to the restricted section.” The two boys look at the gate and back to her. “This is a library, not a hiding place,” she scolds. She pins them down with her gaze, clearly not knowing what else to say, but also clearly not going to leave them alone any time soon.

“Where are the dragonology books?” Scorpius asks. She knows he’s trying to change the subject and gives him a scathing look. They aren’t breaking any rules, though, so she has no choice but to lead them into another section. Thankfully it’s away from James Potter and his friends. Al sulks along behind them. He sits and picks at his nails after the librarian finally disappears and Scorpius has picked out a book on dragon flight patterns.

Scorpius tries to read for a while, but it’s difficult to focus when Al is folded tightly into the armchair across him and obviously brooding. He nudges Al with his foot and asks, “What did he do?”

Al looks up and his expression softens a bit. “He was being an asshole. As usual.” He fidgets and seems like he wants to say something else. Scorpius waits.

“I don’t know.” Al throws up his hands. “He kept introducing me to people and asking stupid questions about you. I don’t care about him or his stupid friends.”

Scorpius closes the book as his heart rate picks up. “What...what did he say about me?”

“Nothing,” Al says quickly and looks away. “It’s not important. Do you have any brothers?”

Scorpius shakes his head.

“Good. You’re lucky.” Al’s eyes blaze. “They’re the worst.”

Scorpius doesn’t see how this can be true, but he doesn’t press the issue.


End file.
